Vision Of Escaflowne Fan Fiction ❯ Bloody Hands ❯ No Turning Back ( Chapter 11 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

*Dear Constant Reader:
No blood or guts in this chapter. Gomen ~_^ But beware of a very detailed recollection of the yaoi locker room kiss described in Gatti's journal (previous chapter). Nothing NC-17 or even R for that matter. This is probably the cleanest chapter in the whole fic so far, but if a boy/boy kiss offends you, then...

(somebody call the WAAAHMBULANCE I'M A LITTLE BABY I CAN'T HANDLE HOMOSEXUALITY)

don't read it. ^_^

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The boy had careless yellow-blonde hair, the color of the slices of sunlight that used to spill through the windows in his sun room. Even the winter hadn't darkened it, the way it does most blonde hair. And despite its carelessness, you could tell it would be baby-fine and silky if you were to run your fingers through it. It was cut short in the back, neat and trim on the back of his neck. But his bangs were flimsy and long, some of them thoughtlessly brushed to the back of his head, some of them tucked behind his ears. It gave him a tousled, wind-blown look, but just about everyone had a wind-blown look in the weather they were currently having.

His eyes were deep brown with a single golden ring around the irises, all hazily mingled with the deep velvet coffee color. He was one of those people that seemed to look into the world instead of at it. The features all fit together so softly, as if someone had brushed them together with their fingertips. He wasn't aware that he was insolently, perfectly handsome, though he'd been informed of it many times. His ego had a big hole of modesty in it, and the compliments floated right through. Anyhow, his mind was often too preoccupied with something to wonder whether or not people liked the way he looked.

He was wrapped up in a thick brown cape of soft animal fur, and a long scarf was hugging his slender neck. The thick, baggy, modest clothing was an odd contrast to his prince-like beauty. Snowflakes were sprinkled on his shoulders, and he let them stay. He hated the cold, but he loved the snow with its white nature-pureness.

"Good morning!" the driver called to him, pivoting in the front seat when the young man climbed into the back and shut the door. "Where will it be, sir?"

The sound of someone calling him sir was a familiar one. He was sixteen, but people called him sir because just about everyone knew that he was quite wealthy. He'd been a snob most of his life. Right up until he was thirteen.

"The Red Inn," he told the driver, "Near the Schezar manor."

His voice was smooth and rich and it seemed to stretch his words out elegantly like the notes played on a cello.

"Red Inn it is," the driver, whose name was Leif, said.

After a long silence from his passenger, with no sound but the clip-clap clip-clap of the horses' hooves on the cobblestone road, Leif spoke up again.

"Colder than a witch's tit outside, ne?"

"Hai," the boy agreed absently. He was gazing at the passing scenery, velvet-brown eyes looking into the world. His face was set, conveying no emotion as he bobbed slightly with the rhythm of the carriage.

Another long silence. Leif took another shot at conversation.

"They say that Van Fanel is staying up there, you know. The Schezar manor, that is. They say he's been acting queer ever since the Great War. Poor lamb. I'll bet my left nut it was that hussy from the Mystic Moon put a curse on him. Always believed that place was cursed."

"Hai," the boy said, "Someone who died in the war... he had something to give Van-sama, but he never got the chance. That's why I'm going up there. To give it to him."

Under the cape, the boy ran his thumb across the soft leathery handle of his sword.

Leif nodded, glad the boy was no longer being so eerily quiet.

"Relative?" he asked, referring to the someone who died in the war.

"No."

"Best friend?" Leif tried again, hoping he wasn't being nosy.

"Not exactly."

"Colleague?"

For the first time, the boy looked away from the window and at Leif.

"We were lovers," he said unabashedly, voice direct, daring the driver.

Leif stirred uncomfortably in the front seat, more over the directness of his passenger's voice than the idea of homosexuality.

Another silence, this one considerably more awkward.

"You know... I .... I don't have any problem with that," Leif offered.

The boy looked at him as if he'd declared that he didn't mind the sky being blue instead of red.

"Why would you?"

Leif shrugged, silently cursing himself for letting someone at least half his age belittle him so.

"You know... some people don't think it's right," he explained.

("He told me he didn't raise his only son to be a cocksucker")

The boy nodded gravely, his stern expression softening and fading to a solemn one.

"So what's your name?" the driver asked.

"Sebastian," the boy answered. He decided suddenly that he shouldn't give his full name. Not his real one, anyway. Not if he was

(no turning back now 'bastian, darling, no turning back)

going to go through with this. He could think of only one other last name. It stood out in his mind like a single red rose on a bed with black sheets. "Sebastian Aldour."

He didn't ask for the driver's name, but Leif gave it anyway.

"I'm Leif Merrideau."

Sebastian nodded once, and turned his gaze to the window again. His reflection looked back at him, face sad and hazy. He could see his own brown eyes brimming with transparent liquid. Remembering his lover again, for the zillionth time that morning.

Oh hell, Gatti... I miss you. I miss you so much...

*****

Gatti had been lying on his belly, torso naked, arms folded on his feather pillow, head turned to the side, cheek lying on the backs of his hands.

Sebastian was sitting on the backs of Gatti's thighs, peering down at his bare back. The tears had come effortlessly, suddenly, and without warning.

"Oh Gods, Gatti," he'd whispered, "Oh my God, Gatti, your poor sweet back. That son of a whore that fucking bastard I'll kill him I'll kill that worthless piece of shit I'll rip his heart out and shove it down his fucking throat."

The welts had swollen up and were a puffy pink color. Some of them were bright red, as if they were bleeding. They were all over his poor sweet back, all the fuck over him. From his neck to the small of his back.

"... oh my baby...," Sebastian was still rambling, whispering ominously and hysterically, "... oh my love, my love, my baby, my poor sweet Gatti... I swear to God, I'll kill him, Gatti. As soon as he walks in the door I'm going to kill him with my bare... with my b-bare hands!"

"Shhh...," Gatti said quietly from underneath him, as if Sebastian were the one with welts on his back. Welts so bad it hurt to walk, hurt to sit down, hurt to do anything save lie on his stomach. "Don't cry, 'Bastian."

"I'm going to get you out of here, love. I'm going to kill him and I'm going to shove his heart down his bastard throat and I'm going to take you away where he can never do anything to you again...."

"Shhh...," Gatti said again. "It's okay, 'Bastian, it doesn't hurt so bad. Please, don't start talking like that again. Just put the medicine on it right now, all right? Okay, love?"

Sebastian pressed the clean rag on the open mouth of the bottle, turned it upside down to soak the part covering his finger, and set the bottle on the dresser beside Gatti's rickety single bed.

"It'll sting pretty bad, love," he said solemnly.

"That's okay," Gatti said. He clenched his teeth and gripped the pillowcase.

Sebastian reached for the belt he'd taken off. He and Gatti were naked save a pair of boxers each. Both of them felt better when they were in that state, being closer to becoming one boy the less clothes hindering them. And anyhow, it was a hot summer night outside. Neither of them were brave enough to go completely nude yet.

Gatti saw the leather belt in front of his face.

(Come here, Gatti. I've got a belt-whipping with your name on it)

He cringed.

"Here," Sebastian said gently, "Put it in your mouth and bite down hard. The pain won't seem so bad."

Gatti opened his mouth and let Sebastian slip it between his lips. He clenched his teeth down and grimaced at the leathery taste.

*****

Sebastian watched the wet film slide down his set face. He frowned at himself, and brushed it away. His mind wandered again.

*****

They were sitting in the locker room after reamerball practice, both of them thirteen. Sitting a little closer than normal, maybe, but neither of them noticed. Their arms brushed ever so often, and Sebastian had been stealing glances at him when he didn't think Gatti was looking. He wasn't looking, he was concentrating on stuffing his school uniform into his bag. They attended an all-boys school, and Sebastian had often snobbishly wondered how Gatti's parents had ever been able to afford it. He was obviously, almost heart-breakingly poor, and he'd been an outcast because of it. That Aldour kid... how did he ever get in here?

But things had changed at break-neck speed when Sebastian decided to play reamerball. Gatti was on the team, and was one of the star players at that. And once Sebastian had given him a chance, he'd taken an instant liking to Gatti's humble nature. And perhaps even greater a liking

(hello sebastian darling welcome to your sexuality)

to his soft ash-blonde hair, bright blue-green eyes, broad shoulders, and long, slender legs. And that feeling had been growing, swelling up just a little more each time he looked at the way Gatti's bangs stood up in the front. That was so insolently cute...

"I wish I didn't sweat so much," Gatti was declaring, laughing a little. "I feel all slick and dirty, like I just jumped in a mud puddle."

Sebastian laughed.

"Would you rather pant like a dog?"

"At least then I wouldn't be pulling my jersey up all the time to wipe my face!" Gatti said.

Sebastian couldn't hide his grin. He liked it when Gatti pulled his shirt up, exposing those tanned stomach muscles...

"But you'd be slipping on your own drool and you'd be slick and dirty just the same," he said.

Gatti grinned, and Sebastian stifled the urge to grab his face and kiss him.

"I guess you're right."

He reached up and wiped his wrist across his brow.

Sebastian noticed a twig of hair, brown-looking because it was wet with sweat, plastered to Gatti's temple.

"You have some hair sticking to your forehead," he informed Gatti.

"Oh," Gatti said, pushing his bangs back a little. "Better?"

"No... you still have... here, let me."

Sebastian reached, bending his elbow a little, and brushed the moist lock away from Gatti's temple, fingers light and soft, sending invisible, prickling fingers creeping up Gatti's spine.

He lowered his hand slowly, and found himself staring into Gatti's glimmering aquamarine orbs. Gatti was staring back with a look of slight fear and desire on his face. It happened so perfectly, so naturally that Sebastian was convinced that the gods had planned it out.

He reached up again, a little uncertainly, and ran the tips of his fingers through Gatti's bangs. Mushy and moist with perspiration. The touch was gentle this time. Obviously gentle. The kind of gentle that said, Here we go, baby. I'm touching him and there's no turning back no turning back here we go one two three here we go what's he going to do i've already touched him no turning back no turning back can't take it back now

Gatti blinked several times, eyelids hooding his cerulean-jade irises slightly. But he didn't move.

Sebastian let his fingers trail from Gatti's bangs to his temple, and then behind his ear.

oh i'm touching him look at him he likes it no turning back now he likes it no turning back oh my heart it's going so fast i think i'm in love i think i'm in love with him

He did it again, fingers tracing the same route. Through his bangs, down his temple, behind his ear, fingers sinking deeper into Gatti's hair this time.

Gatti had closed his eyes, and when Sebastian's fingers slipped off the outside of his ear, he opened them again. Sebastian's velvet-brown irises were gazing into his, right into him. He noticed the golden ring around his pupils.

The Moment was there, quiet and magical. The whole world standing perfectly still, holding its breath the same way they both were.

(Seize the Moment, boy. Seize the day.)

Sebastian leaned over on the arm propped on the wooden bench. He tilted his head slowly, until his ear touched his shoulder. He knew he was supposed to close his eyes. That was the way it was done. That was the way he'd always seen it done. But hell, it was always done with a girl too, now wasn't it? He kept his eyes open, staring into Gatti. Gatti stared back into him, and Sebastian felt his heart wham slam trip-bam in the middle of his chest.

Gatti's lips met his, full and fleshy and soft. Sebastian opened his just slightly, so that his lips curved more snugly around Gatti's.

He felt Gatti move closer and lay his hand over the one Sebastian had resting on the bench.

oh god oh god he's touching my hand that's so beautiful that's so good that's so good, gatti...

Sebastian put his other hand somewhere between Gatti's hip and waist, feeling the boy's warmth under the silky jersey. He felt Gatti stir again, and then there was a warm hand on his cheek, fingers softly and gently stroking his jaw and cheekbone, a deft thumb caressing the broad cleft next to his nose.

Gatti moved his lips, parting them and then pressing them against Sebastian's again. Sebastian parted his, and their open mouths were against each other. He felt Gatti's lips pucker, then pull away, leaving a delicate smick sound behind. His hand left Sebastian's cheek, the tips of his fingers sliding softly away. But he left his other hand on Sebastian's, and Sebastian left his free hand on Gatti's hip.

They looked at each other, and the reality of what they had done hit them like a Guymelef falling from the sky.

Gatti's face suddenly went scarlet. He laughed uneasily and looked at the floor.

"I can't believe I just did that," he whispered.

Sebastian shook his head.

"N...neither can I..."

"My dad would beat me bloody if he ever found out," Gatti said, still flushing, and Sebastian was unaware of just how terrified Gatti suddenly was.

"I'm sorry," he said, sensing the regret in Gatti's voice.

"No," Gatti said abruptly, snapping his head up. "No, don't be sorry. I.... I liked it."

Sebastian smiled.

"Arigatou."

He realized that Gatti's hand was still on his. He lifted one finger and hooked it around one of Gatti's.

And then Gatti was leaning forward again. His free hand took the back of Sebastian's head, fingers running through the shaven hair at the back of his neck.

They'd lost track of time, and had spent ten minutes on the locker room bench, kissing. Gatti had been the first to finally pull away, saying he'd be in trouble for being late. He had chores around the house to do, and he assured Sebastian that he'd stay if he could,

(if... only... I... could....)

and then he'd leaned in for another kiss, trying to stand up at the same time.

He'd turned around when he'd reached the doorway, and Sebastian noticed that the cleats had stopped. He looked up at him.

"I guess I'll... see you tomorrow," Gatti smiled. He was flushed. His whole mouth was a bright fleshy pink color and Sebastian feared there would be a lovebite on the nape of his neck.

"Yeah," Sebastian nodded dreamily. "See you tomorrow, Gatti."

Gatti was still grinning. For a second Sebastian thought that he would set his bag down and hurry back in for one more kiss. Just a quick little good-bye peck, maybe. But he didn't. Gatti took two slow, springy steps backward, wiggled his fingers in a feeble wave, then turned on his heel and walked down the empty hallway that led to the field outside. When he got to the locker room entryway, he stopped and turned around. Then, smiling broadly at Sebastian one last time, he'd disappeared out of sight, hand slipping off the door frame.

*****

The snowflakes were lighting on the carriage window, like thrown handfuls of wet sand. Sebastian had gotten used to the slow rocking bob of the carriage. He was vaguely aware that the driver was trying to talk to him again.

"... but like I said, I hope Van-sama gets better. He's a great man, ne?"

Sebastian looked at the driver's back, and then turned his head to the window. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, then it faded into the set, solemn expression he'd been wearing when he'd climbed into the carriage. When he replied to Leif's comment, the driver missed the sarcasm in Sebastian's voice.

"Hai," he said quietly, fingering the handle on his sword again, "Long live the king."

(No turning back now, 'Bastian. No turning back....)